


A Little Bonfire All Of Our Own

by WolfieOnAO3



Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Bonfire Night, Comedy, Domestic, Fifth of November, Fluff, Guy Fawkes Night, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27406735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3
Summary: ‘Bunny, I’m sorry; I know you were looking forward to it,’ Raffles said, frowning down at me after I had all but collapsed onto his sopha, ‘but look at the state of you, old boy. You can barely stand up without hanging off of my arm!’‘I’ll jusd hang off--’ I made brief interlude for a coughing fit ‘-- jusd hang off of your arm den. I’m really not dat sick...’It's Guy Fawkes Night, and Bunny is too sick to go out to see the celebrations; though he's reluctant to let that stop him!
Relationships: Bunny Manders/A. J. Raffles
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	A Little Bonfire All Of Our Own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unwillingadventurer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/gifts).



> This is for UnwillingAdventurer, as their _wonderful_ Bonfire Night Raffles story inspired me to write one of my own, and because they both also understand the magical, morbid marvellousness of Guy Fawkes night. And just cos they are both awesome <3 (I hope it's all right to gift this to you guys?! I have no idea of the etiquette surrounding these things... But if nothing else it makes it easier for people to go CLICK on your handle and easily find your Bonfire Night story which is SO GOOD! Everyone here should GO READ IT!)

The night was perfect. The sky was a deep, rich, November blue, peppered with stars seen through a fog just thick enough to lend the world a sense of mystery, though not enough to obscure the fireworks when they came; and the air was that comforting sort of cold which dances around you rather than soaking through to your bones. There was little chill wind to bite at cheeks and noses; just enough to bring a pleasant flush to even the most bloodless of faces, not enough to drive you back indoors; though under usual circumstances I shouldn’t have been driven back indoors for anything less than a hurricane. I loved Bonfire Night.

This particular Bonfire Night was back in those halcyon Albany days, when Raffles and I could move freely and gaily wherever and whenever we wished, dipping in and out of all of the most fashionable sets, never committing to any one of them; never belonging to anyone of them. We had been invited to several top drawer Guy Fawkes parties that year -- and when I say “we”, I of course mean “Raffles” -- but had accepted none of them, preferring instead, for a change, to discard the dinner jackets and gold cufflinks for wool suits, overcoats, and scarves, to venture across to Battersea for the public festivities in the park. 

At least, that was what we had _planned_ to do. Unfortunately on the fourth of November I had come down with the ‘flu. 

‘Bunny, I’m sorry; I know you were looking forward to it,’ Raffles said, frowning down at me after I had all but collapsed onto his sopha, ‘but look at the state of you, old boy. You can barely stand up without hanging off of my arm!’

‘I’ll jusd hang off--’ I made brief interlude for a coughing fit ‘--hang off of your arm den. I’m really not dat sick.’

‘You can’t even say your “th”’s. You are as white as a sheet, and-- Bunny you are _shivering!_ How the devil did you even manage to make it here without fainting!’

‘Because I’m not _ill_ ,’ I insisted after blowing my nose, temporarily regaining use of my th’s. ‘I’m fine. I want to go out to see the Bonfire and the Guy and the fireworks!’

Raffles stared at me, the iciness of his cold grey eyes making me shiver (and that was _why_ I was shivering, of course, not because I was unwell; or so I told myself at the time). ‘Well, I’m not about to stop you from doing what you want, Bunny,’ he said at length with a shrug.

‘We cad go den?’ I said, sitting up straight with a grin -- before promptly slouching back down again when the effort proved a little too much for me.

‘ _You_ can go, if you like,’ he said, shaking his head, his expression telling me precisely what he thought of _that_ idea, ‘but I’m staying right here.’

‘What!’ I cried, grimacing immediately at the pressure being even a little loud put upon my beleaguered sinuses. ‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t feel like going out.’

‘You’re only not going because you don’t want _me_ to go.’

‘What a vain little rabbit it is this evening!’

‘Deny it!’

‘I do deny it,’ he said, stubbornly. ‘If you want to drag yourself out into the cold night air and give yourself pneumonia, that’s up to you, but I’ve entirely lost my taste for it. Do you really think I’ll have any fun at all watching fireworks, cheering the burning of the Guy, and eating roasted chestnuts whilst you are standing beside me all but fading away in a swoon, blue-lipped and runny nosed? That’s not my idea of an enjoyable evening.’

I felt my cheeks grow warm -- though that may have been the fever, rather than a flush of emotion; it was getting difficult to tell. ‘So that’s how it is, is it? I suppose I will-- I’ll-- I’ll ged in your way, will I? Be more of a burden dan -- _than_ I usually am, is dat it? Well I’m _sorry_ I caught a cold, Raffles; it was very inconsiderate of me. Nexd time I’ll consult _you_ before getting sick, to make sure I won’t be getting in the way of your _plans_! Why don’t you just go without me, den? Or go off to Lady Adela’s party, or Edmonson’s from de Club, or off to any of de-- _the_ other places you’ve been invited! I’m sure you’ll have much more fun wid _dem_ dan wid _me!’_ ’

Rather than arguing back at me, which he rarely did, or patiently and condescendingly pointing out exactly why I was being an idiotic ass, as he often did, Raffles simply stared at me for a moment with a sympathetic eye, before standing up.

‘I’m going to get you a mug of hot water with whiskey and lemon.’

‘I don’t want--’ I stopped mid-sentence as Raffles raised a doubting eyebrow in my direction. He was right. That did sound quite good, just den. _Then_ . I huffed instead. ‘ _Fine_.’

‘I’ve an India rubber hot water bottle, too. I’ll get that filled for you.’

‘I’m not cold,’ I pouted; though my bold assertion was somewhat undermined by the full-body shiver which wracked me as I spoke. ‘I am still going to go out, A.J.,’ I said to his retreating back as he went to fetch the hot water.

‘I’m not stopping you, Bunny,’ he said cheerily from the hall.

‘It’s just a little early, yet,’ I added. ‘That’s the _only_ reason I am still here.’

‘I’m sure it is.’

‘I am going, Raffles. Even if you won’t come wid me. With me. But you will be missing out; they always put on first-class pyrotechnics over at Battersea.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Raffles said as he returned, rubber bottle beneath one arm, mug filled three-quarters of the way up with hot water and a lemon slice in the other. He tossed the water bottle at me (I dropped it), and totted a finger and a half of whiskey into the mug before handing it to me. 

‘Thank you,’ I growled.

‘You’re welcome,’ he smiled, and he draped a heavy throw around my shoulders before flopping down into his comfortable armchair, his long legs thrown over the chair’s arm, rakish and restful and irritatingly endearing when I was trying to be cross with him. With his cup of coffee on the end table beside him, and a hefty novel balanced across his knees, Raffles was making it quite evident that he had no plans to move from that spot for the rest of the evening. 

I sipped at my hot whiskey and sulked. He was right, of course; Raffles was usually right. I was far, far too sick to go out. I had only just managed to make it from Mount Street to the Albany, and it was touch and go even then. Being out for that short time in the deliciously, perfectly, _magically_ autumnal night air had left me feeling as though I’d gone six rounds with a particularly malevolent snowman. I wouldn’t even make the thirty minute _cab ride_ that would get me to Battersea, let alone standing around all evening being jostled by the crowds, breathing in the smoke and the chill fog, not to mention putting up with the banging of the fireworks mere yards from my poor ears! The sound of my own _voice_ when raised a little was enough to make me wince. Yes, Raffles was right; but I didn’t have to be happy about it.

I pulled the blanket he’d given me closer around myself, tucked the hot water bottle against my chest, and drank my warm whiskey, staring into the hypnotically flickering flames of the fireplace. I don’t know how long I sat like that -- I was feeling a little dazed, and beginning to feel decidedly cosy -- but after a while I glanced back over at Raffles, only to find him already watching me with a quiet and sympathetic smile playing over his lips.

‘What?’

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

I exhaled heavily and gave it up. ‘ _Terrible_ ,’ I said. 

‘I _am_ sorry, Bunny,’ he said, sounding as though he meant it, too. ‘I know you were looking forward to tonight. Devilish bad luck you getting sick, my dear fellow. But look, it’s not all so bad, is it?’ he added, turning in his seat to face me, folding his legs to sit tailor-fashion in his chair, leaning forward with his elbows in his lap. ‘We have a little bonfire all of our own, see?’

‘That’s just the regular fire Raffles,’ I sulked. ‘That’s nothing like the same.’

‘Ah, but on _Guy Fawkes Night_ there’s no such thing as a _regular_ fire, Bunny! All fires are symbolic bonfires on Bonfire Night, no matter how small; even candles! So really we have _several_ bonfires right here in my sitting room!’

I tried not to chuckle at his childish and winning enthusiasm, and succeeded in bringing on another coughing fit. 

‘I’m fine-- I’m fine--’ I said between hacks, as Raffles’ expression swiftly turned from cheery encouragement to mild concern.

‘You don’t look it,’ he said, ‘or sound it. I’ve half a mind to keep you here tonight, you know, rather than sending you back out in that chill. Whatever were you _thinking_ , Bunny? Ah! But I don’t mean to keep on at you, my dear chap. You’re already suffering enough without me heaping chastisement on top of your load to bear. My poor rabbit.’

‘I _am_ quite a poor rabbit...’ I said with shameless amounts of attention-seeking self-pity, and Raffles pushed out his lower lip in a sympathetic pout.

‘Well, look; you and I can have our own little Guy Fawkes celebration right here, just you and me; what do you say to that? And I’m sure we’ll be able to see one or two fireworks from the window; they usually set off a few in St. James’ Park -- _No_ , we _cannot_ nip over to St. James’ park to see them. Incorrigible creature!’

‘I know, I know,’ I said with a rueful grin, finally relenting and accepting that this year London would have to carry on it’s festivities without me. ‘It's only that I was _so_ looking forward to tonight. But you’re right; this is just as good,’ I admitted as Raffles pushed up next to me on the sopha and pulled me into a hug. ‘You shouldn’t get so close though, A.J. You’ll get sick, too.’

‘Well, you know how I love danger; let me live recklessly,’ he grinned, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. ‘All of the best prizes come with risk, rabbit!’

A series of loud bangs put an exclamation point on Raffles’ playful affection, and a flash of colour shattered against the low-lit walls of his rooms. 

‘Look!’ I exclaimed, forgetting my pounding head and hoarse throat for just a moment in my excitement. ‘You were right! We can see fireworks from here! Over the roofs at the back; did you see?’

‘I saw, Bunny,’ Raffles smiled, though he was still looking at me rather than out at the sky. 

I stumbled to my feet against his protests, and against further protests still went to open the window and lean out. I took a deep breath of the crisp, gunpowder-tinted, dark-blue night air, and though it stung my lungs with the cold, I closed my eyes and smiled. Raffles leaned up against the window beside me.

‘It is a perfect night for it, isn’t it?’

‘Completely perfect,’ I replied with a sigh. ‘Superlative! I can just imagine Fawkes and Catesby and all the rest heading out on a night just like this one, can’t you? The sky as clear as their heads; the air as cold as their intentions…’

‘What a thrill that must have been.’

‘Yes; right up until they got caught.’

‘I expect there was quite the thrill even in that,’ Raffles replied, perversely. ‘Not that I intend to follow in their footsteps myself,’ he added hastily upon receiving a pointed look from me. 

Another set of pyrotechnics lit up the velvet sky, and whatever reply I had been going to give faded from my lips as I marvelled at the dazzling spectacle painting the canvas of the heavens. As the fireworks sparked and danced and burned themselves out, so bright, so brief, I looked to Raffles, my own childish enthusiasm now far exceeding his, and once again found that he had been looking to me instead of the skies. 

‘A.J., why aren’t you watching?’ I asked, glancing between him and the stars. ‘You’ll miss it!’

‘I won’t miss a thing, Bunny,’ he smiled, his gaze drifting over me, soft and bright and warm against the chill night air. ‘I’ve got the best view in all of London.’


End file.
